Series Five
by gopadfoot
Summary: Some characters are unhappy with how they've been portrayed in the last two series. Mycroft, Sherlock, John, Sally, Anderson, and others confront the two men responsible for plotting Series Five. Pure crack!


"We cannot let this go on any longer," Mycroft said somberly. "Or England will fall."

"Well, it's just people talking," Sherlock mused, while stuffing another ginger nut into his mouth. "They do little else. Why would we care?"

"Because I'm not gay!" John burst out.

The Holmes brother's gave him a Look.

"That's not quite the point, John," Sherlock told him pointedly (no pun intended).

"Do keep up, Dr. Watson," Mycroft said patronizingly. "It's not about them saying it. It's about them _making it happen._ "

There was a collective gasp from the audience. "Are you sure, I mean, is it true, um, can they-" Molly foundered helplessly.

"What the _bleeping bleep_?!" Greg burst out.

"Well, that explains what happened to me," Sally muttered. "Always knew they had a pick on me..."

"This ends NOW," the British Government said fiercely.

* * *

The two men sitting at the conference table, calmly sitting tea while plotting away, certainly hadn't expected an invasion.

"No," Mycroft announced, staring at the man who bore a remarkable likeness to himself. "We will not allow this. There will be no Series Five."

"Why ever not?" Gatiss found his tongue.

"I would have thought you lot, of all people, would be happy to be brought back to life," the graying man named Moffat scratched his head.

"We would rather stay dead than play along with your claptrap!" Anderson burst out. "I mean, I hate all this facial hair. And really, you made me into such a creep, stalking the Great Detective and worshipping the dirt on his heels. It's disgusting!"

"Well, you know, it was necessary, for... for the, uh," the ginger plot master stuttered.

"For the plot!" his partner said grandly. "We all have to sacrifice some things for the plot, don't we?"

"Like my own self?" Sally cut in snarkily. "Where do I figure in your grand plots? You buried me in some deep, dark pit, and expect me to joyfully welcome your machinations?"

"There's always Series Five!" Moffat beamed at her.

"And whom will you sacrifice for that?" John cut in sarcastically. "My daughter, perhaps?"

"We would never do such a thing!" Gatiss exclaimed, scandalized.

"Oh, no? So why didn't we here any mention of her in the last episode? Especially, you know, if her own mother left some DVD's for us, shouldn't she have left some kind of message to her own daughter?"

"Well, there's always Series Five?" Moffat said/asked, much less confidently.

"Yeah, about that. You really think that I, as a single father, will spend all of my free time chasing dangerous criminals all around London?"

"Why not?" Gatiss was confused.

"Well, perhaps Rosamund needs at least _one_ parent to be there for her. And perhaps I won't put myself so willingly into danger if I know that I'm all she has."

"You could always remarry. Then Rosie will have a new Mum!" Moffat said brightly.

Everyone gaped at him.

"Yeah, and then you'll just kill her off," Sherlock replied nonchalantly. "Like you did Mary. Because you have this perfect little mental image of John and I solving crimes together forever, and won't let anything intrude on it."

"Oh, and may I ask where I come in?" Mycroft drawled. "You made Sherlock be the smart one, and the strong one in the last episode. No more high-functioning sociopath. No more drugs. What other function do I have but look out for my little brother? What am I to do now that Sherlock is perfectly capable of functioning without me?"

"You're right," Moffat agreed. "Mark, how do you suggest we kill him off?"

"No," Gatiss protested. "We need him for his, uh, his looks!"

"What about me?" a soft, feminine voice called out. "Are you done playing with me yet? Because I really didn't appreciate being engaged to that doppelganger with half the brain of a flea. Now that I have declared my love for Sherlock, can I please find someone normal, and have a normal life?" Molly begged.

"I actually liked the Aston Martin," Mrs. Hudson chimed in. "But come on, I would never put my favorite boy in the boot of the car!"

"Anyone else?" Moffat asked, pressing his hands to his temples. "Yeah, you know, you can't just keep on dropping me from random episodes," Greg piped up. "I'm the show's favorite DI. An episode without me is no episode at all!"

"What about the star of your show?" the world's only consulting detective challenged. "I tuneed from a sociopath into a wise, grownup, do-goober. Where's the fun in that? Where will the show go with my current dull personality?"

"I will say one more thing," Mycroft spoke up, glaring hard at the two cowering men. "Remember this: I am NOT LIMITED!"


End file.
